20. Thorne

TWENTY

THORNE

I t took the king little time to gather the troops and begin their arduous march toward the Wyeberry Kingdom. They were decked out in their sleek shifting suits and armored in steel with the same transitional quality, having been constructed by the witches on the Lion Council a few decades before.

Interacting with other kingdoms was all about diplomacy. Thorne's father, the Great King Nash Bawold had taught him that. Even if the intentions of the enemy were transparent, it was always prudent to open a dialogue before the commencement of violence.

He had to keep the health and safety of his men in mind before selfish vengeance took hold. If remedying an issue with words could be done, Thorne would indeed grit his teeth and do it.

But the king could sense, as he slogged through the barren fields and moved through the passageway of the faintly forested area, that any hope of diplomacy with Queen Wyeberry was likely long snuffed out.

They passed the wooded area in their human form, weaving their way through the purgatory between their two kingdoms. Savanna and Wyeberry weren't very different from one another. Both were inhabited by lion shifters and thrived under similar climates. The plains of Savanna had always been dry in a way that was natural. Wyeberry, though, received far more rainfall and was dense with patches of effervescent evergreens and spruces.

To the king's knowledge, Wyeberry was a prosperous and semi-lush kingdom flourishing on the back of successful logging workers. There were witches that blended into the community seamlessly, and it had a vibrant nightlife that embraced all supernatural and human visitors.

That was what Thorne thought before the demonic and wistful voice had taken over Hannai. What he found was far worse than his resourceful imagination could have ever conceived.

The climate was arid, not as stifling as the savanna but dry enough for him to notice the way the dirt creased along the forest floor. The trees themselves drooped crestfallen, withering and wilted.

Thorne led his men through the labyrinth of a stark wilderness, a sadness weighing on his chest. He hadn't forgotten that the queen had his mate in her possession, but there was a more merciful part of him that wished she had come to him for aid.

The state of Wyeberry was in critical condition, and he was sure in his heart that there was very little chance of resuscitation.

They approached the castle which stood like a monolith against the gray stone sky. The queen's army was prepared for them, adorned in armor with rusted ends and dented plates. They were astonishingly malnourished and stared through the gate bars at the king with blemished and tired faces.

Thorne made his army halt and instructed Vale to stand guard. He approached the tired faces and spoke sternly.

"Let me speak to your queen. We should not fight if we don't have to. Let me and a handful of my men in to talk some sense into her."

The weary men gave each other a blank look, a facial equivalent of a shrug. One of them opened the gate with great effort with Thorne taking note of the unseemly sight of the man's waif-like bicep.

It took a long time for a shifter to look that mangy.

"Come with me," he said.

The king gave Vale a short glance, letting him know that things were fine. He nodded and was taken into the palace with five of his best soldiers.

Cassia sat on her throne. It was ancient, gems infused into the glossy wood. But the throne room was empty otherwise, and the queen was sitting like she was in the waiting room of hell, ready to meet her maker.

"My Queen," the soldier who led them inside said in a weak voice. "King Thorne of Bawold has graced us with his presence."

Cassia's stare remained fixed upon the marble floor, turned away in artful contemplation, then waved him away.

"That will be all," she muttered.

The soldier didn't leave the throne room but shuffled back toward the door from which they'd come. The echoing way he lumbered in the armor was a depressing sound.

Thorne took a step forward, his feet padding through the vacant room. When Cassia didn't look up, waves of rage overtook the king.

"I know she's here, Cassia," he hissed, the sharpness of his voice bouncing off the lifeless walls. "You don't have to keep playing this game. Save your men the trouble. They look like a stiff wind would blow them away."

Cassia beamed at him, her eyes arctic and cold. But she chose her words carefully, the way she always did like a warrior selecting the perfect weapon.

"What would you know of such suffering?" she said, biting into her words. "You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You were groomed to be king. You know nothing of true endurance."

Thorne would not be lured in by her plight. He took another step closer to the staircase that led up to the throne, padding one foot against the first.

No one emerged to call him back. He leaned forward, seething.

"Tell me where she is, Cassia. Stop wasting my time."

She began to chuckle again, clapping her hands together like something tickled her to her core.

"Breya is here, but I'm not sure where," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "But I don't think she will be living very long. I promised her to Nyfain, you see. Sorcerers are very thirsty for power. That's why I had Hannai divine where Breya was. Though I initially thought about sliding my dagger along that pretty little neck."

She grinned with very little behind those eyes.

Thorne let her speech carry on, masterfully maintaining control of his killer urges.

"But when I learned that she wasn't some feeble, useless witch dabbling in magic tricks, I played it another way. I satiated Nyfain's thirst. I hoped you'd come to me, heartbroken, and our kingdoms would finally be wed. And I'd still have a cosmically powerful sorcerer in my pocket."

Her voice had grown sullen, edging despair. Thorne wasn't going to fall for it.

"For you see, the land is infertile, dear King," she said, chuckling darkly. "Our way of life has been crippled by it. The logging plants had to close down. Only zombies and lonely queens walk these grounds."

Thorne took another step forward while Cassia bowed her head, using her cloak to dab along her eyes. She didn't seem to notice.

"Cassia, there were ways to merge our kingdoms without deceit. We are lions, meant to.…"

"Oh, don't feed me that codswallop!" she shrieked, making him stand erect. "You would have dried me up as much as I would have dried you up. Political unions rarely succeed past the moment each party is rewarded with what they were seeking."

Thorne didn't completely disagree. But the conniving look in Cassia's eyes erased all misery he could feel on her behalf. He felt it for her people, her kingdom, but not for the queen.

"But none of that matters now, does it, Cassia? You have been found out. You have my mate. My soldiers are waiting at your door. They will butcher your men without breaking a sweat."

Cassia laughed more, and Thorne started to consider the fact that she too was underfed, sinking into the pits of delirium.

"Don't you dare doubt the drive of the hungry, King of Bawold. They have nothing else left to lose. People who know that their paradise awaits them on the other side of starvation are willing to toss any and all morality out the window. Survival is the name of the game."

Thorne sighed, then stepped down from the steps. He began to roll up the cuffs of his shifter suit, the armor jangling as he did.

"You are really going to let your people be murdered, and for what? For resources? To gain power over a people who wouldn't likely accept you anyway?"

The laugh had evolved into an outright cackle. It was menacing and sent a wintery chill through the king's chainmail.

He was ready to see her beginning to froth at the mouth like a diseased rat.

"I am going to kill you like I killed my first husband," she confessed flippantly, rising to her feet. "Then, my men are going to slaughter yours. Afterward, we will dance on their corpses, and celebrate with a plentiful feast. Your bones will be grounded into the clay that holds the bricks of our homes."

The king had enough. But so had Cassia.

"Go now!" she screeched, raising two hands into the air. "Attack!"

Thorne leaped for the throne first. But her guards had been waiting patiently in the shadows and blocked him in a wall of dusty bones.

Thorne called to Vale telepathically, commanding him to descend upon the palace, full throttle.